


The Hangover

by Reyn



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Action, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Light crack, M/M, Pack Dynamics, Trust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-12
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-11-05 05:12:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reyn/pseuds/Reyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one ever warned Derek that being an Alpha meant having to put up with the headaches that came with everyone in your pack being an idiot.</p><p>This is basically a series of oneshots that focus on Derek putting up with whatever crap his pack puts him through. And not in a baking, movie nights, fluffy kind of way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Misguided Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek overestimates Stiles' level of genius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came from a prompt I stumbled across over on tumblr.
> 
> _rrrowr:_
> 
> _I may need an argument in a fic where Derek and Stiles are shouting at each other mid-battle or something where it just_
> 
> _Derek: I THOUGHT YOU KNEW WHAT YOU WERE DOING._   
>  _Stiles: YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE THAT EVER THINKS THAT._

 

In hindsight, Derek should have stuck to the first half of his initial thought, ‘This kid is batshit crazy!’ and ignored the second half of, ‘But his idea actually sounds like it might work…’ It had become a nasty habit of his lately, giving highschoolers the benefit of the doubt. For some reason, he had this tendency to forget how most of their plans ended badly.

Unfortunately, now was looking to be one of those times.

He shoved Jackson out of the way and took the nasty hit that was intended for him. Derek felt his ribs crack and immediately clamped his jaw shut to suppress his cry of pain. For a bunch of rotting corpses, these creatures were incredibly strong.

A warm body drew flush against his back, and Derek immediately leaned into it, taking comfort in Jackson’s presence as they circled back-to-back, keeping a wary eye on their surrounding attackers.

“This was a terrible idea.” Jackson muttered, and Derek was inclined to agree. “Where the hell are McCall and Stilinski?”

The roar of an engine, followed by the screeching of tires answered his question as Stiles’ blue jeep sent one of the undead creatures sailing through the air when he failed to stop in time.

“Sorry!” Stiles yelled as he hopped out of the car, but whether the apology was to his friends or the enemy he had just run over was unclear.

“Stiles?” Derek’s call for reassurance was cut short as all six of the creatures decided to attack once more, now that the distraction was over.

“Uh…keep fighting!” Stiles ordered, clambering over the jeep’s hood to retrieve a large black duffel bag from Scott. “Don’t mind me!”

“Stilinski!” Jackson’s windpipe was moments away from being crushed by brittle hands. Derek tried to bite the arm off, but only came away with a mouthful of rotting flesh.

“Look,” Stiles actually had the audacity to stop what he was doing and send the two fighting werewolves an exasperated stare. “If it makes this any easier for you, just pretend I’m not here.”

Luckily, Scott had enough brains to join the fray, allowing Derek to spare a moment to send a glare in Stiles’ direction.

A glare that turned into a double-take as he realized Stiles was reading a book.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

Derek only looked away once Stiles’ expression morphed into a clear ‘oh shit’ as he realized the question was being directed at him.

“I’m…well, I’m researching!” he argued defensively. “So sue me!”

Derek’s answering roar managed to cause his two opponents to startle back and hesitate, giving him time to fully turn and face Stiles.

“Researching?? I thought you knew what you were doing!!”

Stiles drew back sharply and threw out the arm that wasn’t holding the book, his shoulders rising in a shrug. “You’re the only one who ever thinks that! Even Scott’s learned to stop trusting every word that comes out of my mouth!”

“It’s true,” Scott managed to grunt out from his pinned position on the asphalt.

Stiles was saved from the biggest verbal lashing of the century as Derek was forced to focus on the fight after his arm was twisted out of its socket. But that didn’t stop Derek from channeling his anger in the kid’s direction.

He was going to kill him. He was going to take that book and bash it over Stiles’ head until his brain bled from his ears. He was going to rip out the pages and give Stiles paper cuts on his eyeballs.

“Okay, you’re sure they’re not zombies?”

“What?” Jackson’s moment of distraction earned him a punch hard enough to probably crack his jaw.

“I just want to make sure they’re not zombies, because they really look like zombies, and if they are, what I’m about to do is going to look really stupid.”

“Just do it, Stiles!” Derek snarled, using his good arm to throw the creature that was on top of Scott aside.

The soft, almost melodic sound of thousands of rice grains hitting the ground followed the order, prompting everyone in the fight to turn their heads and look over at Stiles.

Stiles, who held a rapidly emptying bag of rice, stood there staring at the mess he was making, looking far more like an idiot than normal.

“Oh-oh my God! No! Look! Look at all this rice! This was my dinner!” His hands swept out and motioned at the uncooked grains. “Gosh. This sure is a lot of rice. I wonder how many grains there are…”

And just like that, the werewolves found themselves forgotten as the creatures all dived towards Stiles, scaring the kid bad enough to jump up onto the roof of his car. Instead of giving chase, they all remained on their hands and knees, gathering up the rice grains one by one as they  _counted_  them.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Stiles breathed out, flopping onto his back with a hollow thud. “I was right.”

“What are they doing?” Scott ventured to ask, stepping up beside Derek.

“They’re loogaroo; distant relatives to vampires,” Derek explained, holding his dislocated arm tightly against his side. “Their one weakness is counting, it’s an obsession for them.”

“Legend has it that if you were to encounter one, you should throw a handful of rice on the ground and they’ll be too busy counting the pieces to notice your escape,” Stiles wrapped up cheekily, propping himself up on his elbows so he could grin down at the rag-tag team. “Now what say I move my jeep out of the way and we burn and dispose of these baddies properly? I don’t think they’ll notice, do you?”

Rather than answer, Derek let out a grunt as Jackson took hold of his arm and successfully jammed it back in place. Next time. Next time, he would remember this time and say no to whatever asinine scheme Stiles came up with.

Because, really. Stiles was worryingly not-all sane.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to throw out there now that I'm always open to prompts and ideas for this particular wolf pack. But I will warn you, I am notorious for not following prompts correctly and being picky (or just really slow) when it comes to choosing what to write.


	2. Stiles' Got A Gun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek gives Stiles a gun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea completely stemmed from how, in my headcanon (and Derek’s apparently), I automatically expect Stiles to be an expert with guns and shooting, all because his dad is sheriff. But, really, I totally feel it can be ~~hilariously~~ argued whether or not his dad would actually trust him with a weapon.

Not a moment of reprieve was given as the hunter slid to the ground, her eyes blank and dull as dark liquid trickled from her mouth. Pulling his bloodied hand out from her stomach, Jackson wheeled back, tripping over nothing and falling to the ground in his haste to get away from what he had just done.

“I-I…I…”

“You saved your friend’s life. Now get up. Hurry!” Derek snapped when Jackson failed to obey the order.

Crouching over the body, he pulled the gun out of the unresponsive fingers and straightened, shoving it into Stiles’ chest.

“Use it.”

“Whoa, what?” Stiles cringed away, taking the gun and holding it out between two fingers. “You’re giving me a gun?”

“There’s more of them out there.” Derek’s finger went up and pointed in the general direction where he had caught the scent of at least two other hunters earlier. “If you see one, I want you to use it on them before they can use it on us.”

At the idea of his life still being in danger, Stile adjusted his grip into something a bit more reassuring, but not by much. “You can’t give me a gun!” He held it out towards Derek. “Take it back!”

Scott, who had immediately caught on to Derek’s fairly obvious train of thought shook his still wolfed-out head. “Keep the gun, Stiles, you’re going to need it to protect yourself.”

Stiles did an abrupt half turn to face his best friend. “Dude! How am I supposed to protect myself with this thing! I don’t know how to use it!” he hissed.

“Your dad’s the sheriff!” Derek reminded him none-too-patiently, hand now motioning to the gun.

Stiles’ arms flew out and his shoulders rose in a shrug. “So? Scott’s mom is a nurse, but that doesn’t mean I’d trust him with anything more than basic first aid!”

“Your dad never taught you how to use a gun?” Scott asked, his tone disbelievingly gentle over Derek’s explicit “Jesus fuck.”

Looking between the two werewolves with his mouth open in unprepared defense, Stiles finally shrugged again. “No! No, alright? He thought about it, but my mom was always against it. And then—” he paused and licked his lower lip, looking down at the gun in his hands. “For a while after mom died, I was kind of teetering on the edge of going off the deep end.” He looked back up, his eyes wide and forcefully bright. “So, in exchange for not trusting me with a gun, he gave me a police radio scanner and here we are today. Remind me why I can’t just keep putting my life in all of your hands? Claws?”

Derek scowled, hauling Jackson to his feet by the shoulder. “Because if your position had been switched with him, you would want the ability to return the favor instead of having to deal with the consequences.”

Stiles’ eyebrows shot up as he understood the point loud and clear.

“C’mon, man, it can’t be too different from the movies, right?” Scott encouraged, nudging Stiles with his knuckles.

“Yeah.” Stiles looked away from Derek and down at the gun. “Yeah, sure, no problem. Easier than riding a bike. This is the safety, right?”

The gun went off, the echo of its shot piercingly loud as a bullet lodged itself in the ground near the dead hunter.

Hands over their ears, everyone stared incredulously at Stiles, who was in turn staring at the smoking hole in the ground.

“Great.” His voice came out several octaves too high. “So, first thing tomorrow, I’m going to start convincing my dad I’m completely sane and deserve some father/son time at the shooting range.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My inbox is still (and always) open to wolfpack prompts :)


	3. He's Not Dead Yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles finds Derek after a near-death experience. Inspired by [this](http://hackedmotionsensors.tumblr.com/post/24799779387/yeah-i-guess-i-became-this-person-now-for-some).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops. I slashed a bit.

The world sounded oddly muted as Derek groggily blinked his eyes open, leading him to wonder just how much damage his head had taken during the fight. It couldn’t have been that much, considering his memory seemed perfectly intact.

He tried to get up, tried to return to the battle to see if things were over or if his pack still needed him, but his limbs refused to cooperate. Completely. Alright, so new question. Just how much damage had his body taken before he blacked out?

It took an embarrassing amount of energy to roll over so that he was propped against what smelled like a sack of potatoes. He frowned down at his arm, which looked fine but was now trembling uncontrollably from being forced into use before it was ready.

“Derek? Derek! Oh my Go—Derek!”

Something heavy barreled into Derek’s left side and began poking and prodding him in the most annoying of ways.

“You’re alive! How the hell are you — I was so sure I had watched you die! I mean, out of all the times I’ve watched you die, I thought I had seriously watched you die this time!”

Derek frowned and rolled his head to the side a bit so he could focus on the person in front of him. “Stiles?”

In response, Stiles dropped his head onto Derek’s shoulder. “You can’t — you can’t keep doing shit like this. Forget about my dad, it isn’t good for _my_ heart.”

“Doing what?” Derek was completely baffled as to what was happening here.

“Dying, you idiot!”

Derek stared down at what he could see of Stiles’ form. “But I didn’t die.”

“You almost died,” Stiles snapped. “You are so not allowed to argue with me about the semantics here.”

“I’m getting better?” Derek suggested, figuring the mood needed a bit of lightening when even Stiles got bogged down with the gravity of the situation.

The hand that had been resting over his stomach merely fisted into his shirt.

Derek knew better than to take that as a sign of reassurance and once again tested his body’s responsiveness. His fingers flexed and thigh muscles tensed on command, allowing him to shift into a slightly more comfortable position. His few remaining open wound stung at the movement, but he wasn’t about to complain.

“I feel fine.”

Stile’s heart continued to beat far too loud and fast for Derek’s liking. So he smirked and tried a slightly different tactic.

“I think I’ll go for a walk.”

“Oh my God,” Stiles choked out, a laugh escaping his throat as he finally caught on. “You have not been quoting Monty Python at me this whole time.”

“I feel happy. I feel hap—” Derek turned his head to the side as a coughing fit wracked his dry throat.

Stiles finally leaned back, a weak smile on his face as he shook his head. “If you break out into the musical version, I’m leaving your ass here to heal on your own.”

Derek merely looked at Stiles with his eyebrows raised. He had no idea there was a musical version, but Stiles didn’t need to know that. In fact, next chance he had, he was looking it up just so he could sing it if Stiles was going to be an idiot about things again.

“Right! Well, I’ve obviously given you ideas, and a smart alpha is a pain in the ass alpha.” Stiles rocked back to his feet and extended a hand down for Derek to take. “Let’s just get you into my jeep where I’ll plant ideas on you taking some real fighting lessons so that none of this ever has to happen again. Capiche?”

Derek scowled. “Have you ever actually watched _The Godfather_?”

“Uh, nope.”

Derek rolled his eyes and took the hand. He was going to have to teach this kid about the classics.


	4. A Piece of History

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired after remembering the definition of the word ‘beacon’.

“So…”

Derek’s head rolled to the side. He had given up on constantly telling Stiles to shut up nearly an hour ago. He stopped growling at him roughly half an hour ago. He could tell his glare had lost its potency to weariness when Stiles’ mouth hesitated in snapping shut.

‘ _Fuck my life…_ ’ he thought as he watched Stiles play with the hem of his sleeve before drawing in a breath to attempt speaking once more.

“Why is the concept of staying quiet while hidden so hard for you to grasp?” Derek preemptively interrupted, glad that being around the kid for so long hadn’t drained the snap out of his voice. Yet.

For a long moment, Stiles stared, his expression clearly wondering if this was some kind of trick question to make him talk, never mind that he had been trying to strike up conversation for the past two hours.

“Have I ever told you about how I might have been misdiagnosed with ADHD once and when I do bother taking my Adderall, it works in odd ways?”

Derek snorted. “Misdiagnosed? Seems pretty accurate, if you ask me.”

“No, see, I have this theory,” Stiles began, looking far too happy at having the implied permission to speak. “Where kids these days are a product of too much information given to them too fast, and as a natural result, we get restless sitting in a class that hasn’t updated its teaching methods since the 1970’s. And—”

“Shut up, Stiles.”

The order was obeyed with a slump of the shoulders.

Somewhere in the distance, leaves crunched and scattered. A twig snapped.

“Can I ask you a question?” Stiles whispered.

Derek made no attempts to lower his voice. “No.”

The stare Stiles gave him this time around wasn’t exactly defiant, but as he licked his lips, Derek knew he had lost the battle. Stiles was going to ask anyways.

“What brought you back? I mean, I know what brought you back, but what made you decide to stay here in Beacon Hills? Not that I mean to imply that I understand your motivations and stuff, but you’d think after all your business had ended here, you would have gone back to New York. At least to get away from all the memories.” Stiles’ eyes were no longer meeting Derek’s. “I don’t know how you can…there really isn’t anything keeping you here. Well, there is _now_ , but what about before all that? Didn’t you have a pack or family or something back east?”

Derek did belong to a pack back in New York. But he knew he wouldn’t be welcomed back, seeing as how his sister, the alpha female, was gone and in her place would be her brother, an alpha male. His return would be seen as a challenge, and while it would probably be both safer and easier to go back to New York, considering the situation going on here, Derek still remained.

“My grandfather…” Derek paused to swallow, his throat suddenly feeling dry. “There was this old saying in my family, about how a true Hale would always hear the calling of Beacon Hills. My grandfather said it was because we’re tied to the land, that it’s in our blood to be here. My cousins and I never really believed him, especially when we all started feeling restless once we hit puberty, but now…” He locked his gaze with Stiles, to ensure he understood. “I think I understand now.”

Stiles’ mouth opened, but for once, there was no question or snarky comment forthcoming. Instead, he whispered a small, “oh,” and nodded and between the both of them, that was enough.


	5. The Day Allison Proved Herself Worthy In The Eyes Of Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Sterek Summary** : For reasons beyond everyone, Derek still defers to Stiles when help is needed. Danny has decided he hates the both of them as a result.
> 
>  **Jackson/Danny Summary** : Time and time again, Jackson has proven he has an ounce of compassion for his best friend. Today’s trial, however, is probably something they will take with them to their graves.
> 
>  **Normal Summary** : In which Danny needs help stopping a bloody nose and all men are proven to be stubborn idiots. I’m not sorry.

Three pairs of eyes turned as the plinking sound of a blood drop hitting concrete flooring echoed in the ears of the shapeshifters.

“Yeah, I think I need another tissue.”

Jackson pulled another five tissues from the box he was holding and wordlessly handed them over to Danny, sending yet another dark glare over to the corner Scott had been banished to.

“Look, I said I was sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

A sharp hiss from Jackson had Scott rapidly retreating in his footsteps until his back hit the two walls. It was a true display of just how apologetic he really was when he started listening to Jackson of all people. Shuffling his feet, Scott stared imploringly out at the room at large, making all of its occupants waver in their conviction.

Except for Danny. Danny merely stared back as he quickly changed out tissues, slapping the bloodied ones into Derek’s outstretched hand while pressing the fresh ones against his most likely broken nose.

Catching on that it wasn’t yet time to forgive his best friend, Stiles let out a sigh and twirled a finger at Scott. “Maybe you should just…turn around? Face your time out corner for a little bit longer.”

Scott did as told and tension leaked out of everyone’s shoulders once those sad, guilt-ridden eyes were no longer on them.

“Guys, it’s been more than twenty minutes,” Allison suddenly chimed in. “Don’t we need to take him to a hospital or something if he’s still bleeding this badly?”

“I’ll be fine,” Danny tried to insist, even as he motioned with his fingers to be given a few more tissues.

“Derek knows first aid.”

Everyone turned to make sure Scott was still facing the corner after giving his suggestion before turning to look at Derek.

“I only know werewolf remedies,” Derek corrected, shaking his head. “Basic first aid isn’t really needed with our healing abilities.”

“Way to make the humans of the pack feel like they’re in good hands,” Stiles muttered, distractedly tapping away at some game on his phone.

Jackson leaned forward, trying to peer into the gap between Stiles’ hunched form and his phone. “What are you playing?”

Wordlessly, Stiles flipped on the volume, filling the room with the overly-familiar sound of pigs’ grunting laughter, followed by a twittering bird flying through the air until it crashed into its obstacles.

Jackson actually looked intrigued. “Which version?”

“Space. The gravitational forces are awesome.”

Interest piqued, even Derek leaned over to try and see past Stiles’ head.

“You guys, I’m serious!” Allison interrupted. “Danny’s starting to look as pale as me, and it really isn’t a good color on him!”

Startled, all three men looked up in time to see Danny trying to put a forceful stop to his swaying.

“Told you…I’m—”

“We’re taking you to the hospital.” Derek’s tone left no room for further arguments in the unlikely event that Danny would have been up to it. “In the meantime, we need to find a way to at least slow the bleeding down so that he doesn’t pass out on the way there. Who else might know first aid? Stiles?”

The surprised double-take was less than reassuring. “What? What makes you think I would know first aid?”

“Because your dad’s the sheriff,” Jackson supplied, as if it made all the sense in the world.

Not for the first time, Stiles found himself wondering about the collective I.Q. levels of werewolf packs. “Yeah. A cop. Not a boyscout leader. You want to learn about gun safety or how to break out of an assaulter’s hold, then you can come to me.” He motioned over to Scott, who was still resolutely facing his corner. “Scott’s mom’s a nurse, _and_ he works for a vet! Why aren’t you asking him for help?”

Derek actually had the nerve to stare at Stiles as if he were offended by the very words pouring out from his mouth. “Scott lost his privilege to touch Danny when he decided to break his face. You’re the one the vet’s always trying to give advice to, so why don’t you listen for once and use your imagination?”

Stiles’ glare remained on Derek as he closed out his game and climbed to his feet to tuck his phone into his pocket.

“Stiles, he’s looking a little grey,” Allison pointed out in an attempt to cut through the tension that always mounted between Derek and Stiles whenever they deemed each other worthy of talking to.

Looking at Danny, Stiles’ eyes widened in alarm. “Uh, okay, we’re going to need something stronger than Kleenex to stem the blood flow. Like—like gauze or cotton or — Derek, take off your shirt.”

“Why?”

“Really? You’re going to argue with me _now_?” Regardless, Stiles held out his hand expectantly. “It’s for Danny.”

Rather than comply, Derek’s arms crossed defensively over his chest. “Last time it was ‘for’ Danny, too.”

“Are you going to try and redirect his blood flow?” Scott’s asked, head twisting as he peeked out from his corner.

Allison’s snort was drown out by Stiles’ loud accusation of, “Oh my _God_ , you’re all idiots!” as he scrubbed both of his hands over his hair. “I want to use your shirt as a compress for his nose! Why is that beyond everyone’s comprehension?”

The suspicion didn’t fade from Derek’s face. “Why my shirt? Why not yours?”

Looking about as put-out as a teenager could be, Stiles made an obvious show of rolling his eyes and motioned at Derek’s torso. “Because out of everyone here, I happen to know for a fact that you don’t mind having blood on your shirt.” At Derek’s unwavering stare, Stiles found himself continuing to list off reasons. “And because it looks like it might be 100% cotton? Meaning…it’ll absorb better than my 50% polyester?”

Derek refused to budge.

“Okay, fine! And maybe I’m assuming there’s a bit of validity in Scott’s question, and out of all of us here — no offense to Allison — you have the hottest body! There. Happy?” Stiles crossed his arms, his expression falling into one of petulance. “I’d do it myself, but I’m not exactly attractive to gay guys.”

Derek’s mouth opened, clearly to argue, but stopped as he noticed Jackson jumping into action, slipping off his jacket and dropping it to the ground.

“But—you’re not my type.”

Jackson paused at Danny’s words before scoffing. “Try saying that when my shirt’s off,” he said as he proceeded to undo the buttons down the front of the shirt.

This time, Danny’s hand shot out to grab Jackson’s forearm. “But I got you that shirt for your birthday.”

Stiles’ mouth fell open in outrage as the two best friends shared a very obvious moment, lost in each other’s gazes. Jackson’s fingers even went as far as to slip away from his shirt’s buttons and fall uselessly to his sides.

Turning to see if _his_ best friend was seeing this, Stiles’ jaw fell even further when the look on Scott’s face could only be described as ‘that’s _so_ precious!’

“Am I really the only one here with an ounce of common sense?” Stiles demanded, his arms flying out at his sides.

“Uhm.” Allison’s hand half-heartedly rose in the air. “I’m the one who gave the hospital suggestion. Twice,” she stressed when no one rushed to her defense.

“Yeah, but you’re a girl,” Stiles dismissed.  His eyes suddenly widened as he froze. He whirled around to fully face Allison. “You’re a girl!”

Allison nodded, sarcastic worry etched into her features. “Yes, thank you for noticing.”

“You’re a—” Stiles started pointing frantically at her purse, snapping his fingers when she failed to obey the unspoken command. “Open it! Open it! Open it!”

Spurred into action by the urgency in Stiles’ voice, Allison immediately started fumbling through her purse. Her stress levels quickly broke when Stiles failed to stop with the snapping. “I don’t even know what I’m looking for!”

“You’re a girl!” Stiles made it sound like the most obvious answer in the world. “You have to have a—” His fingers came together and made a sort of twisting motion, before thrusting upwards into the air. “A-a thing! For the — All girls have—!” It didn’t help that everyone else was staring at him just as uncomprehendingly. “A tampon! I need a tampon!”

Allison’s frozen features melted slightly into mild disturbance. “A tampon.” Her eyes flickered over to Danny, who still appeared to have no idea where this was going. “You want to use a tampon to…” With a swift head motion, the rest of the men were suddenly clear on just what was being suggested.

“Yes. Now, gimme!” Stiles’ hand shot out expectantly.

“Stiles, you can just use my shirt.”

Stiles glanced over at Derek long enough to shoot him a glare. “Too late, that ship has already sailed. Besides, these things were meant for these kinds of situations.” He looked down at the wrapped tampon that was placed in his palm. “Well, sort of.”

Ripping open the wrapper and tossing it carelessly in the general direction of the pile of bloodied tissues, Stiles held the tampon up for closer inspection. The rest of the men in the room took a fearful step back; a thud sounding as Scott’s back hit the wall.

“I…have no idea what I’m doing,” Stiles admitted. “What the hell is this and how do I make it work?”

Allison snatched the tampon back and pushed it out of its plastic applicator before handing it back to Stiles.

“Oohhh. That’s…disturbingly clever.”

Jackson actually gagged.

“You know, we really don’t have to do this,” Danny spoke up. “I’m pretty sure the bleeding is slowing down, so I should…” He swallowed thickly as his eyes went a little glassy. “I should be okay until we get to the…the place…”

Stiles knelt before Danny, tampon hovering between the two of them. Placing his free hand on Danny’s wrist, he gently pulled the giant wad of tissues away from the bloody nose.

Danny was a sight to behold. Through the mess of blood the Kleenex failed to pick up, Danny’s nose looked like a swollen knot. The dark coloration of skin only confirmed Stiles’ suspicions.

“Oh yeah, I’d definitely say that was broken.”

Despair shone through Danny’s eyes. “Crooked?”

Stiles’ gaze flickered over his friend’s face, the corners of his lips tugging down into an exaggerated frown. “…Mmmm, no,” he lied decisively. “No. Nah, not at all.”

Danny probably didn’t believe it, but Stiles made it a point to portray nothing but confidence as his eyes dragged down to Danny’s left nostril, where a small, steady stream of blood was emerging from.

The tampon continued to hover between them as Stiles eyed the hole with an intensity that had even Derek holding his breath. Stiles’ hand barely inched forward, and Danny immediately flinched back, his eyes flitting fearfully between the tampon and Stiles’ look of concentration.

Staring at the tampon as well, Stiles continued to slowly bring it forward, swallowing compulsively the closer it got to Danny’s face, ignoring the goalie’s minute shake of the head.

And suddenly Stiles turned away, both hands hitting the ground as he dry heaved.

“I can’t.” He looked sadly up at Allison before turning his head to shoot his next words at Derek. “I have too much imagination.”

It took a moment for everyone to catch on to what that even meant, but when it sunk in, Jackson gagged for a second time, and Derek looked completely grossed out as he reached forward to grab Stiles by the scruff of his shirt and pull him to his feet and out of the way.

Luckily, Allison was there to step up to the plate.

“Scott, why don’t you go start the car?” she suggested while bending down to pick up the discarded tampon.

The sound of jingling keys and a door slamming shut punctuated the question. Stiles had never seen his best friend move so fast. Jackson looked tempted to follow, but a soft whimper from Danny kept him loyally rooted in place.

“Please don’t touch me,” Danny pleaded, looking so much like an abused puppy pleading for its safety that Stiles actually started tearing up a little.

He didn’t realize he was reaching out to try and save his friend until he felt Derek’s grip shift so that he was being held back.

“You can’t feel sympathy for him when this was your idea.”

Stiles tried to direct his scowl at Derek, but aborted the attempt when he realized their faces were much too close together to do so.

“You make it sound like I’ve sentenced him to death.”

“You sentenced a gay man to a tampon up the nose,” Jackson bit out, dragging his eyes away from Allison’s hesitant attempts at steadying Danny’s head so she could properly insert the tampon. “That’s practically the same thing.”

“Blame Derek,” Stiles snapped back. “He’s the one who deemed me advice-worthy. People generally don’t listen to me for a reason.”

Derek’s grip on him tightened threateningly. “It’s fine. Go,” he instructed Allison.

Nodding, Allison gently inserted the tampon, wincing as Danny’s whimpers took on a pained edge thanks to his broken nose being jostled.

“Sorry,” Allison muttered, pulling her hands back when Danny suddenly jerked away, his tolerance levels finally hitting their limit.

Derek eyed the handy work for a moment, nodding in approval when the tampon appeared to be doing an excellent job of stemming the blood flow. “Good. Now let’s get him to the hospital.”

Straightening his shirt as he was finally released, Stiles watched Jackson help Danny to his feet.

“You know, if anyone from school happens to be at the hospital, Danny’s never going to live this down.” He startled as four extremely dark glares were shot in his direction. “What? Just saying!”

Derek shoved him in the direction of the door.

“Shut up, Stiles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N** : So…this idea was the direct result of me taking a first aid class and the instructor telling us that tampons can be used to stop bloody noses if they’re still bleeding heavily for more than 20 minutes. Sorry, Danny.
> 
>  **A/N 2** : In my opinion, all Teen Wolf stories should end with “Shut up, Stiles.”
> 
>  **A/N 3** : I just want to throw out that my favorite kind of Sterek tension is the kind when they argue purely for the sake of arguing. Not because of logic, or reasons, but simply because they can. Because they hate each other’s faces. Never mind how much of an asset Derek actually considers Stiles. Never mind how quickly Stiles will turn around to help Derek. They will stubbornly stick to their petty hatred of one another’s pretty faces simply because they’re so pretty and maybe they’re a little jealous.


	6. Derek Says Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles hates Derek. Hates him. With a passion of a thousand fiery suns.

Stiles didn’t want to be dragged along in the first place. But did anyone ever listen to his wishes? No. No, they did not. And now, as a direct result, he was stuck two towns over in Majestic Springs, with the very last person he ever wanted to get stuck with. Again.

“Excuse me, my friend’s jeep ran out of gas. I don’t suppose you could spare a bit of change…?”

Stiles frowned and slouched against the grill of his jeep, refusing to participate in this begging for change scheme. In his defense, if he had known he was going to get dragged out of bed at the crack ass of dawn to act as Derek’s personal chauffeur, maybe he would have filled up his tank the night before. As it was, Stiles considered their current predicament to be completely the werewolf’s fault, meaning he could go and beam at as many ladies as he had to in order earn the money needed to refuel the car all by himself.

The old lady Derek was talking to made the mistake of glancing in Stiles’ direction, catching the full force of his glower before hurriedly continuing about her way.

Turning, Derek raised a brow at Stiles, before glancing down at the coins in his palm and pocketing them.

“You should try smiling.”

The irony of the command was not lost on Stiles, his features remaining dark and grumpy as he demanded, “Why?”

Derek took a moment to look up and down the street for any more pedestrians, probably in an attempt to abort the conversation he had mistakenly started with an irate Stiles. When no one was forthcoming, he turned back to his companion and offered a shrug.

“Because God loves you.”

Rather than dignify such an asinine answer with a response, Stiles merely continued to scowl as he reached out blindly for his cold cup of coffee. There was never an ideal time to deal with a charismatic Derek.


	7. Drowning in Denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Sterek, Magic!Stiles

Eyes watering, Derek sneezed five times in rapid succession.

“Bless you.”

Wrist covering his nose, Derek backed away behind Stiles, his glare alternating between the boy and the source of the offending smell. “What the hell _is_ that?”

Eyes not leaving his work, Stiles picked up a beaker and swirled it carefully. “I tried to warn you. I said, ‘Go away.’ But does anyone ever listen to Stiles? Noooo…” He poured the contents of the beaker into the larger concoction and just like that, the smell vanished.

Derek blinked and slowly lowered his arm, taking a tentative sniff over Stiles’ should and finding he could only smell Stiles’ scent and little else to suggest anything weird was being experimented on in the room.

“What did you just do?”

Stiles shot him a brief grin while setting the beaker aside. “Something Dr. Deaton showed me. Pretty cool, huh?”

Derek frowned. “Magic?” While he had no qualms about magic in general, he didn’t like the idea of his strongest sense being messed with so easily.

Stiles snorted. “No.” He caught Derek’s unhappy stare and found himself elaborating. “I don’t believe in magic.”

Derek’s look went from unhappy to disbelieving. “You don’t believe in magic,” he echoed. “Then what do you call what you’re doing?”

Stiles looked over his array of various liquids and powders and unknown substances, all in funny shaped bottles labeled with what Lydia had informed him were runes.

“Extensional science,” he decided firmly, daring Derek to challenge him otherwise.

Derek dared. “You’re working with a cauldron,” he pointed out.

Stiles stared at the cauldron for a moment before shaking his head. “No. No, see, this is an antique soup pot. It was a big deal back in the medieval ages, kind of like how werewolves were a big deal.” He spun a quarter of a turn so he could better face Derek. “Geez, I would think you of all people would know how to look past the stereotypes of Halloween mascot…symbolism…thingies.” He lost his steam at Derek’s unamused stare. “You were the type of bully who liked to scare the pants of the kids and steal their candy, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” Derek answered. “And I used my shape shifting abilities to do so. But, gee, Stiles, how would you explain such a mystical power if you don’t believe in magic?”

Stiles’ face fell and he turned back to his work. “Complex X-men science. On a post-apocalyptic biological warfare level.” He looked back at Derek and pointed at his own face. “Because, you know, infectious bite and all.” He snapped his teeth together a few times to demonstrate his point.

Derek’s slow head nod covered every level of sarcasm Stiles had ever encountered. “Right. So how has denial been treating you?”

“I’m drowning so deep in it, you all should start calling me Stiles “the Merman” Stilinski,” Stiles responded, staring off into space.

Deciding his tolerance levels had been reached for the day, Derek shook his head and turned to leave the room.

“Hey! Don’t eat the mushrooms growing out front!” Stiles shouted over his shoulder. “I’ll need them later!” Encouraged by Derek’s hand wave to show he was listening, Stiles continued. “And before you ask, they aren’t Magic Mushrooms! They’re Shrooms of Science! Heh.”

Derek stopped waving, going as far as to use both hands to cover his ears before rounding the corner.

“Rude.”


	8. He's Got Your Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was pretty much inspired by cosplay!stiles at Wonder Con, his “Scott”, and Mama McCall having none of that shit.

The pounding on his door was being echoed in his head, and Derek immediately decided he didn’t appreciate it at all. It took effort, pushing himself up from his bed; a testament to just how bad his injuries from last night really were.

His shirt was wrung around his torso, and he pulled it straight, ignoring the protesting stiffness from all the dried blood. His muscles were sore, but everything seemed intact, just a small twinge here and there as he stretched what he could on his way to the door.

“DERrrr…” What started off as an enthusiastic greeting died off as his two visitors caught sight of the state he was in.

Stiles’ shock he could care less about thanks to the numerous times the boy had seem him to death’s door and back. Scott’s mother, however…

Gaze dropping self-consciously to the floor, Derek ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to maybe fix whatever mess it was in, wincing as what felt like a fingernail dislodged itself and bounced down to the welcome mat.

“Can I help you?” he asked gruffly, when both pairs of eyes tried to examine what had fallen a little too closely.

He watched as Mrs. McCall visibly pulled herself together and bravely looked him straight in the eye.

“Yes, Derek, you can. My son, Scott, has gone missing. I don’t suppose you have any idea where he could be?”

Rather than answer, Derek turned his attention to Stiles, whose shoulders had slumped at Mrs. McCall’s words.

“I _told_ you he isn’t missing, he’s right here.”

For the first time, Derek noticed that Stiles was holding something.

“ _That_ is not my son,” Mrs. McCall stated after letting out a firm sigh that suggested whatever patience she had as a single mother of a teenage werewolf was growing thin. “That is a stuffed dog you’ve dressed to look like him.”

Stiles’ mouth fell open in outrage. “No!” he argued. “Don’t listen to her, Scott. Derek, tell her!”

Derek blinked, confused. “Tell her what?”

Stiles waved the toy in front of his face. “You know! About how this really _is_ Scott because, haha! Funny story! You all managed to piss a bunch of witches off last night and now I’m stuck with a stuffed dog in a sweater for a best friend which is awesome! I mean, I don’t get teased enough at school, so this! This should do the trick. Because you better believe I’m going to carry him everywhere and annoy the shit out of you until we find a cure that will turn him back.” Stiles’ eyes swept up and down Derek’s body. “Please tell me you left at least one or two of them alive for questioning?”

Derek shrugged. “They were tasty.”

The twin looks of horror and disgust made it that much harder not to smile.

Mrs, McCall leaned to the side. “Do werewolves really eat people?” she asked Stiles, her eyes still warily locked onto Derek.

“Uh…” Stiles blinked himself out of his stupor. “No! Psh! No! He’s just — he’s just messing with us because he thinks he’s funny.”

Derek quirked an eyebrow at Stiles’ glare.

“Uh-huh,” Mrs. McCall deadpanned. “Funny like you telling me Scott was turned into a toy to buy time for whatever is really going on?”

“Mrs. McCall, I swear I’m telling the truth! And Derek’s here to back me up on this, right Derek??”

Looking down at the stuffed dog, Derek could honestly say he had no memory of this happening. But at Stiles’ insistent faces, he found himself saying, “That is the sweater he was wearing last night.”

Derek actually had no idea if Scott had been wearing his gray and white striped hoodie. He had been a little preoccupied at the time with fending off a four-man attack so the pack could escape to safety.

He then made the mistake of glancing over at Mrs. McCall to gauge her reaction. But instead of seeing panic or tears or even worry, her unamused expression had fallen into one so eerily reminiscent of Peter that Derek found himself feeling completely thrown. Had they been hanging out?

“HA! See??” Stiles crowed. “Now if you’ll excuse us, me and Derek here have some investigating to do to figure out how to get Scott back to the land of flesh and blood.” He pushed Derek back into his apartment, quickly turning around and blocking the doorway to prevent Mrs. McCall from following them in. “I _promise_ to keep you updated and have Scott call you once he, you know, has vocal chords again.” All eyes went back down to the stuffed toy. “ _Bark_ _!_ ” Stiles supplied before slamming the door shut and leaning against it in relief.

“They turned Scott into a toy?” Derek asked, thoroughly confused over how much had actually transpired that he had missed last night.

Stiles snorted. “No. Scott’s fine. He ran off with Isaac — wherever _that_ is.” Derek gracefully ignored the bitterness that colored Stiles’ tone. “But it turns out he told his mom he’d be with me all weekend, despite the fact that last night was the first time I’ve seen him since Thursday.”

“And rather than tell her the truth, you decided to tell her that her son has been turned into a toy?” Derek asked dubiously.

“It explains why he hasn’t checked in with her for several days,” Stiles explained, straightening up and turning to peer through the peephole to see if Mrs. McCall had left yet.

“Right. Why do you own a dog that has Scott’s sweater?”

“For this exaaaact reason,” Stiles drew out, still squinting out into the short hall.

“You do realize that will only work once, right?”

Glancing away from the peephole, Stiles did a double-take in Derek’s direction. “You don’t know that. How could you know that? For all you know, Beacon Hills could be full of witches just waiting to turn unsuspecting werewolves into adorable teddy dogs.”

Shaking his head, Derek turned around and peeled off his shirt, intent on pretending Stiles wasn’t here as he went to take a shower before going back to bed.

“Oh, hey! The next time this happens, you can totally say this is how you lost your great-aunt Gertrude or something!”

“Try not to raid my fridge this time,” he shot back, throwing his shirt in the general direction of his washer and dryer.

Joke would be on Stiles if he tried anyways. Derek hadn’t been grocery shopping in nearly two weeks.

THE END.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: old-sterek-feels


End file.
